


If I Lose Everything In the Fire

by Whreflections



Series: Alternate apocalypse verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn, Post Season 4 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:31:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whreflections/pseuds/Whreflections
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are days when it doesn't feel like the apocolypse. Sometimes. Mostly, though, they're hanging on by rapidly breaking threads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Lose Everything In the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Written before Season 5, when the ideas of what the apocalypse might be like were wide open and varied.

_;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;_

_My beating heart belongs to you  
I walked for miles till I found you  
I’m here to honor you  
And if I lose everything in the fire  
I’m sending all my love to you  
-Last Night On Earth, Green Day  
_  
  
;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;   
  
There are days when it doesn’t feel like the apocalypse. Few and far between, but they are still there. Sometimes, the boys are hunting just like they used to, on the trail of some lesser evil. For awhile, the world seems to stop spinning so damn hard and they can all just take a breath. It’s a nice break, a glimpse of what they can have if they ever reach the end of the road alive and still together. Castiel has faith that they will because he can do less. Sam has faith because if God can still use him after everything he did, then there’s no miracle he  _won’t_ believe in. Dean tries, but there’s too much fear, and at the end of the day he usually ends up believing in only two things: Sam, and his angel.   
  
Even so, Castiel prays every day for results it seems like he’s actually seeing. Dean coming together, piece by piece. He’s settling into the knowledge that his brother is really his brother now, and he won’t lose him ever again. In addition to that, the knowledge that Castiel loves him and will keep loving him until the world goes up in flames, if it ever even gets that far. Nothing short of that would ever be capable of stopping him. Sometimes, it really seems like they’re gaining ground, that Dean’s losing some of his old fears of abandonment, even gaining a shred of self worth.   
  
But it  _is_ the apocalypse, and the world is slowly quite literally going to hell. Inevitably, no matter how much progress he’d made, something always happened to take them about 50 steps back.   
  
Castiel ran a hand over his face, feeling dirt and blood and other things he didn’t want to remember. His wings were spread wide, still, but they drooped with exhaustion, the tips of his flight feathers brushing bloody pavement. A parking lot, of all places, had been the stage for this last battle. It was littered with corpses now, and he knew half the people in this small Georgia town had been killed for this war that was never theirs. He had seen it many times over the past months, but the shock of sadness he felt in his gut never lessened, just as it shouldn’t.   
  
A hand pressed against his back, warm and familiar but with the surge of power marking one of his brothers or sisters. “Yes?”   
  
“It is good to see you, Castiel. When I left earlier chasing Allocen and those with him I saw… Well, I thought…” Phanuel’s voice trailed off, his concern heavy in the silence.   
  
“Yes. Yes, it was close.” He turned, gave his brother a grim half smile. “However, I am blessed to have…family.” The word tasted wonderful, even now. “Sam was close enough to intercede just in time.”   
  
“That is indeed a blessing. In any case, I was…” He reached out again, rested his hand gently on Castiel’s shoulder. “It does me more good than I can say to see that you are alright.” They had been friends for years, he and Phanuel, though they had not spoken since Castiel had become involved with the lives of the Winchesters. The archangel had made it clear before that he disapproved of Castiel’s relationship with Dean, but it seemed none of that mattered to him now.   
  
Castiel touched his arm lightly, his smile widening, becoming real. “it is good to see you as well. Maybe…maybe we could speak under better circumstances soon.”   
  
“I would like that. And I would…” He took a breath, barely hesitated. “I would like very much to meet Dean Winchester, if you would be willing.”   
  
Castiel took a sharp breath, his heart swelling with something between pride in the man he loved and fierce joy that one of his brothers was finally coming around. “I’d love to introduce you to him.” As much as he loved seeing an old friend he’d been sure he’d lost, the mention of Dean had him anxious all over again, nerves on edge. “As glad as I am to see you, I have to go to him now, actually.” His stomach twisted, sharp with fear. He was certain Dean was largely alright, physically. Mentally, however…   
  
Phanuel nodded, stepped away as smoothly as only an archangel could. “Of course.” He dipped his head, his green eyes flashing in the sunlight and reminding Castiel of someone else entirely. “Castiel.”   
  
“Phanuel.”   
  
He was gone instantly, the brief flutter of wings the only sound marking his passage. Castiel rolled his shoulders, feeling the ache in muscles, particularly the joints of his wings. The battle had been hard fought by everyone, and looking at the scene now he would have been hard pressed to declare a winner. He retracted his wings absently, hiding them with hardly a second thought. Later, he might get a chance to stretch them again, wipe some of the blood from the feathers. He sighed, hesitated longer than he should. More than anything he wanted to go to Dean, reassure him, hold him and let him see that everything was alright. At the same time…it had been a long time since he saw Dean broken, and in the months between he’d had time to distance himself from how much it hurt. They had just been settling in to something approaching a healthy relationship, but Dean never responded well to any sort of near death experience involving anyone he loved. He was going to be a wreck, and though he’d never mind healing him Castiel didn’t want to have to watch him go through that. Not again, not so soon.   
  
He was there in the blink of an eye, hand resting against the door of the latest beat up motel they’d taken up residence in. He paused, took one more deep breath before opening the door and slipping into the darkness.   
  
“Cas.” The response was instantaneous, his voice choked with emotion. He was on his feet already, obviously in the middle of pacing the room and it was only seconds before he was wrapping his arms around the angel, holding him tight.   
  
“I’m sorry.” Castiel gripped him every bit as tightly, head automatically bowing to allow him to bury his face against Dean’s neck, breathe him in. Leather, blood, sweat, and  _Dean_. He closed his eyes, pressed a gentle kiss to his neck. “I know you must have been worried.”   
  
Dean choked out a laugh, stepping back to give him an incredulous stare. “Worried?” His eyes flashed, furious. “Last thing I remember seein’ is you with your back to one of Lucifer’s angels, and him raising that damn angel killin’ blade of theirs up and…” He looked away, swallowed, gave up on finishing that part. “Then I’m tryin’ to get to you, and Sam’s there with the Colt, and that’s it. I’m out cold, wake up here to an archangel tellin’ me I’m too valuable to get killed, so I’ve gotta wait here till you two get back, and all I’ve had between now and then is a broken up voicemail from Sam that I could pick out that he was ok, and something about you, but for all I knew he was telling me you were dying or…or…Jesus.”   
  
A muscle in his jaw jerked, his fist clenching, and Castiel easily recognized the familiar signs. “If you want to hit me, Dean, go ahead. I’ve earned it.”   
  
“You know, I almost would.” Their eyes met, and the pain in Dean’s was sharp enough that he could feel the sting, an almost physical slice. “I mean what the hell, Cas? You have any idea how crazy I’ve been goin’? You couldn’t stop by and let me know you were alright?”   
  
“I’ve been busy, Dean, there’s hardly been time to breathe much less leave. The battle didn’t end when you were taken from it. It’s only just now finished. Sam is with Rahmiel; they’re tending to the wounded.” Rahmiel, the angel of mercy and love, one that Castiel had known only a little before the rise of Lucifer. He had made himself known early on, the second day after in fact. He was by nature the angel of so called lost causes, of mercy for those that do not expect mercy, and he had been there when Sam needed him most. He had taken Sam under his protection first out of a sense of duty, but Castiel had recognized something in his eyes as the weeks passed. He watched over the young man now with fierce devotion, a match for the religious fervor with which Sam followed the angel. It was the kind of zeal only found in the nearly damned, and Sam’s eyes shone with it every time he took up arms against the enemy. They fought well together, and it seemed Rahmiel’s gentle coaxing was convincing Sam he could indeed be remembered still as a good man. Something in the way they were with each other, though, hinted at far more beneath the surface, and Castiel knew in these tense times it wouldn’t be long before one of them admitted it.   
  
Dean nodded, unsurprised. “Yeah. Yeah I figured he’d be with him for a bit. I mean, I wondered, and it’s good to hear he’s fine of course, but I pretty much knew that. Hell, I always worry about Sammy no matter what he’s doin’. But I didn’t see him nearly die. Not today at least.”   
  
Castiel could feel his soul constrict with pain, and he cupped Dean’s face gently in his hands, leaning in to brush a soft kiss against his forehead. “I am here.”   
  
He could hear Dean’s breath coming uneven, fighting tears he shouldn’t have worried about. Castiel would never think him weak for tears, but Dean was always irrational about that sort of thing. His hands came up to clasp tight around the lapels of his trench coat, tugging hard and tilting his head up to claim the angel’s lips in a desperate kiss. It was wild and uncontrolled, his tongue thrusting roughly into the angel’s mouth. Castiel opened to him immediately, welcoming, and he could feel Dean moan softly into the kiss. By the time they broke apart Castiel’s back was to the door, one of Dean’s hands hot and possessive against his neck. He panted against Castel’s damp lips, chest heaving .   
  
“Need you, Cas. God, now, right now…” He pressed himself closer, lips claiming Castiel’s again. Castiel took control this time, hand curving gently against Dean’s jaw, tilting his head back for better access. Dean coaxed his tongue closer, sucked lightly at the tip of it. Castiel moaned, his hands dropping to slide down Dean’s chest, his right smoothing down to run across his ribs. Dean’s shirt was wet there, and he gasped softly in pain, on instinct jerking away from the touch.   
  
Castiel turned his hand over, his heartbeat quickening at the fresh blood marking his palm. “Dean…”  
  
“It’s nothing, really.” He panted, his breath short from more than just the kiss. His hands shook just a little, and Castiel took true objective notice for the first time, looking beyond Dean’s fear. He was pale, his skin just a little colder than it should have been.   
  
“No.” He muttered it low, his brow creasing as he carefully slid his fingers to the edge of Dean’s t-shirt, ready to lift it up. “It doesn’t look like ‘nothing’ to me.”   
  
“Cas.” Dean’s voice stopped him, heavy with pain and pleading he wouldn’t put into actual begging words.   
  
Castiel stilled, his eyes shutting. He could deny this man nothing. “You’re hurt. Badly. Let me-“  
  
Dean pressed close again, claimed his lips without asking. God help him, Castiel couldn’t resist. He poured himself into the kiss, returning it with abandon until he could feel Dean rub against him, insistent. He turned away, gasped, forced his head to clear. Before he had become so hopelessly lost in emotions, in human sensation, this would have been easy. He would have pushed Dean back, gently, and insisted to take care of his wounds before attending to any other needs either of them had. Now…now, his need for Dean was almost as strong as the hunter’s need for him, and the combination of both was enough to cloud his reason.   
  
He ran his fingers through Dean’s hair, slid an arm around his back to hold Dean to him as gently as he could, kept himself still and hoped Dean would do the same. He didn’t, of course. He nuzzled against Castiel’s jaw, trailed hot kisses down his neck. A soft appreciative sound slipped his throat before he could stop it and he let his eyes shut, his breath coming fast against Dean’s skin. “Dean…please…wait. Let me take care of you first. I’ll…I could hurt you.”   
  
“This is taking care of me.” The words were mumbled against his skin, his lips hardly breaking connection. He slid one arm around Cas’ waist, kept his right hand pressed against his own side.   
“C’mon. It can wait.” He swallowed, lips hovering hesitantly against the angel’s collarbone before he muttered softly, barely audible. “Cas, I need this.”   
  
The angel’s body shuddered, his head bowing just a little bit farther as he gave in. “ _Dean_.” It was barely more than a sigh, and it was all he could say just then. Dean took it for the confirmation it was, tilted his head up to catch his lips again. He started forceful, body crushing hard and needy against Cas, hips rubbing in an impatient grind, already hard against Castiel’s thigh.   
  
Again Cas stopped him, actually pushing him away a little to give himself room to pry Dean’s attention off his body and onto his words. “If we have to do this now, if it can’t wait, then you have to let me be in control. I won’t have you making that worse.”   
  
Dean licked his lips, nodded. He didn’t seem crazy about being restricted, but he never was. And at the moment, he was too desperate to care. Cas stepped forward, swept him up before Dean could protest and suddenly they were both on the bed, Cas resting lightly on top of him, supporting his own weight. Their clothes disappeared with a thought, except for Dean’s shirt. That he’d keep, unwilling to risk ripping cloth away from the skin and starting it pouring blood all over again. He’d have to, later, but at the moment it was something they didn’t need.   
  
He bent his head to kiss his human, swallowed any protests Dean might have been ready to make. He eased himself down slowly, tried to keep most of his weight on his elbows as he let his hands drift, his right putting firm pressure against Dean’s still bleeding ribs, his left roaming to slide up under Dean’s shirt just enough to rub his chest. Dean moaned under the touch, his hands gripping tight against Castiel’s shoulders. This was all so familiar now, so right…everything that had come before it had long since ceased to matter. In his long life, there had been nothing more important than this. He broke the kiss, nuzzled against Dean’s cheek to whisper with damp lips against his ear.   
  
“I love you.”   
  
Dean shuddered in his arms, a low tremor staying even after the first had passed. He pressed closer wordlessly, and Cas let his arm slide around beneath Dean to hold him close, cradling him against him. His eyes were shut, squeezed tight. He had been through so much, these past years. Hell had changed him, left him more open and vulnerable than he’d ever wanted to be and almost losing Sam to the darkness had wrecked so much havoc on what was left of his control that he would absolutely never be the same. Dean would have said he was weak, now, but no one that loved him saw it that way. In Castiel’s eyes, he was awe inspiringly strong to have even made it through any of it at all.   
  
“ _Cas_.” He voice shook around the word, wavering. He buried his face against Castiel’s neck, and Cas could feel the dampness of tears against his skin. “Jesus, Cas, I thought I lost you.”   
  
His heart ached, broke at the fear in his voice. After everything else, if Dean lost him or Sam now he was certain he would be beyond the ability to cope. It would break him, more permanently this time. He kissed whatever skin he could reach, felt blood seep through his fingers as he ground their hips slowly together, resisted the urge to press him hard into the mattress. “I’m here, Dean. It’s alright. I’m here.” He could feel everything building, pain and fear and desire and heat and need and so much love even he shouldn’t have been able to contain it. He moaned when Dean arched hard against him, the friction between them hot and slippery and perfect. He gave in completely, felt his wings spring out from his shoulders, snapping to their full length to arch over them both.   
  
Dean ‘s hands slid up his back, buried themselves in whatever feathers he could reach and Castiel cried out in pleasure, his hips thrusting hard, automatic. Dean threw his head back, moaned his name and stroked him again. They were lost, so close to falling apart. Castiel let himself move a little harder, knew he’d regret it later when he could focus on things like the fact that Dean was wounded.   
  
Now there was only this, and the fact that whether or not the world fell down around them, they were together. Dean  _had_  come close to losing him, but it went both ways. They were on the brink of it every time they stepped out the door, now. The likelihood of winning the war rose every day, but the likelihood of them both surviving it together…that wasn’t as high. Every second they had together could be their last, really, and even though it was Dean he was worried about falling apart, the reminder of how possible it really was had hit him harder than he would have cared to admit. He wasn’t ready to give this up, for himself. But losing Dean…he couldn’t be ready for that. Not ever.   
  
He kissed him again, tasted blood and alcohol but mostly just Dean, and he whimpered into it, kept the kiss loose and wet and continuous with barely a gasp of air sometimes in between. Dean came first, panting and arching against him and looking far more beautiful than any man had a right to. He was a work of art, the finest piece of all creation. A few more slow focused thrusts and Cas came hard, shaking, making a low mewling noise when Dean tugged on his feathers halfway through. He trembled with the aftershocks, his head resting against Dean’s shoulder and wings dipping until the tips brushed the bed, still quivering.   
  
Dean’s hand stroked through his hair, held him close. His breath was hard and warm against Castiel’s skin, familiar and welcoming, spreading a low buzz of heat underneath his skin. “God, Cas.”   
  
He laughed soft, felt the corners of his lips twitch up against Dean’s skin. “You are so impatient.”   
  
Dean rubbed his neck, gentle. “Sometimes, yeah.” He slid a hand down his back, brushed fingers through bloody feathers. “Come shower with me. That shit’s a pain to get out dry.”   
  
Cas curled his wings in against his back, rolled off of Dean with a last gentle kiss. “Nice try, Dean, but I’m getting the first aid kit and stitching you up, now. Or taking you to the hospital, whichever it requires.” He brought his hand away from Dean’s side and found it coated red and wet with blood. He couldn’t help but stare at it, transfixed, lost in memory. It reminded him far too forcibly of hell, of gripping his skin, of the burn he had had to leave there, of the heat and fire and never ending blood…  
  
Dean rolled with some difficulty onto his side, raised up enough to look him in the eyes, push his bloody hand out of his line of sight. “Hey. It’s ok. It’s really not that bad.” He smiled, looked away before clearing his throat, his eyes fixedly boring into the blanket below them. “Scared the shit out of me today.”   
  
“I know. I…” Castiel swallowed, clenched his hand into a fist, felt the stickiness of the blood coating his skin. “I was afraid, as well. Not for myself but…” He brushed Dean’s cheek with his free hand, caught his eyes. “You don’t have to be afraid, Dean. I don’t want you to be afraid. Not ever again.”   
  
Dean laughed once, harsh. “Kinda the wrong times to be giving me that speech, Cas. What we’re living in…” he shook his head, the rest self explanatory.   
  
“We’re all afraid, I know. But you, Dean…” He cupped his cheek gently, relished the feel of soft breath against his palm. “You’ve been through enough already. I’ve watched you start to heal, and I can’t bear to see those wounds reopened. I  _won’t_.”   
  
Dean kept his eyes carefully away, and Cas could see him trying to make sure they were clear, steady. “It’s just…I’m so tired of it, Cas. I’m so goddamn tired of every time I turn around, one of us is in the fucking crosshairs of death from some direction and I just keep thinking it’s only a matter of time before it’s permanent…before it’s something none of us can fix.” He shut his eyes, and Castiel could see it, see his soul bending under the invisible weight. “I just want it to be over. I want to get back to before the war. Hell, I’m a hunter, I know that. Me and Sam, we’ll keep going and if you-“  
  
“You know I’m not leaving you.” He said it quick, firm. He was almost tired of being doubted, but he couldn’t get angry about it. Beyond Sam, Dean had no real reference for devotion. His father had loved him, certainly, but it hadn’t been the kind of love that would tie him to Dean, keep him there and fulfilling his word.   
  
Dean didn’t smile, but something in his shoulders eased just a little. “Yeah. The three of us, we can still hunt. Take the jobs we can, have a life. But this…”  
  
Castiel shifted closer, stretched his left wing to wrap around Dean, shielding him, keeping him close. He kissed him softly, cradled Dean’s head against his shoulder. In the back of his mind he was praying, a near constant litany that he hoped God heard, and understood. He prayed for the end of the war, as he was sure many of the others did, but his motives were no longer pure. In all likelihood, they hadn’t been from the beginning. He wanted it to end not to bring about Lucifer’s death or peace on earth or anything else. He wanted only for Dean to be happy again, whatever that cost. Maybe that made him as bad, as self serving as Zachariah, but he had ceased to care.   
  
He ran his finger’s through Dean’s hair gently, kissed the top of his head. There were no words, nothing he could say to make this better or even to give him hope. He had tried all of that a thousand times. He was only glad that he could still get Dean to talk to him, to let a little bit of the crushing weight off his chest. He sighed, pulled back, drew back his wing as he rolled off the bed. “Take your shirt off. Careful. It’s going to hurt, I know, but there’s no way around it.”   
  
He rummaged around in Sam’s bag for the first aid kit, pulling out everything he’d need with quick efficiency. He heard Dean suck in a sharp breath behind him and he turned in time to see him grimace in pain, hand pressing to the gash on his side. It was deep, a little deeper than Castiel had expected but not as bad as he’d feared it could be. He would be able to stitch it up himself, at least. He slid smoothly onto the bed, brushed Dean’s hand away.   
  
“Here. Let me.”   
  
“Not sure if I trust you with a needle. I saw what you did to yourself that one time.”   
  
Castiel’s lips quirked up, a hint of smile. “That was my first experience stitching a wound, and I wasn’t worried about…neatness. I’ve improved quite a bit since then and besides, I’d be more careful with you anyway.”   
  
“Comforting.” He didn’t look up from his work but he could hear the smile in Dean’s voice. “Hey, I’m hungry. When you’re done, what do you say we go out? Don’t think Sammy’ll be back till later.”   
  
“Alright.”   
  
“Actually, shower first. Your wings.”   
  
Cas chuckled, let his smile widen. “Sorry. You aren’t getting this wet for a little while at least.”   
  
“Well aren’t you a buzzkill.” Dean shifted a little, sucked in another breath as the needle slid through his skin. “Gotta tell them they’re not magic-ing me outta battle again.” His voice was suddenly hard, angry. Cas wasn’t exactly surprised at the sudden change in topic but he didn’t answer. That wouldn’t be happening. That was one point he certainly agreed with his brothers on, and he wasn’t about to let it change. Dean could  _not_  become a casualty of this war.   
  
He moved a little closer, held the wound together as best he could. “How did this happen, exactly?”   
  
“Eh, you don’t wanna know.” Dean moved again, leaned back on his elbows. “So…did we win?”   
  
Castiel felt his stomach turn, the carnage in the parking lot rising behind his eyes. “Yes. We won.” It had been impossible to tell, indecisive. Hard to call a victory even if it had been due to the lives that had been lost. Still, Dean didn’t need to hear all of that.   
  
Dean nodded. “Good.” He swallowed, looked out the window. “Where to next?”   
  
Castiel shook his head, tried not to think about what the answer to that might really be. “I don’t know, Dean. I really don’t know.” When Sam got home, he might have a better idea of their next location. Until then, they had a reprieve. They’d go eat, come back, and he’d let Dean clean his wings as best he could without showering. He could make love to Dean then like he wanted to, slow and thorough, and he hoped that afterward Dean could sleep, at least for awhile. He’d watch over him, use the time in between to pray for the end of the war and maybe get a little sleep for himself, holding Dean in his arms.   
  
After that they might be blessed with a few of those days that didn’t quite feel like the apocalypse. Beyond that, the future was blank. 


End file.
